A/N: Sorry about how long it took me to finish this part, guys. I went through a period of loathing this intensely, and it was also particularly uncooperative when I got round to starting it up again. In other news, there is possible redemption for this fic. I've had a bit of luck working out a better development line (not really a plot, I guess, but still better than this): look out for The Phoenix Prince sometime soon. The Phoenix Prince is set in this world, and would feature this oneshot, but seeing as I don't know how the style/tense/person would change, I will leave this oneshot up anyway. (If this doesn't make sense, feel free to shoot me or ask. Or both.)

"Please, father!" Yao froze as he heard Kiku's voice behind the decorated shouji door. He could see Kiku's frame kneeling before his father, and hesitated. He had so badly wanted to apologise again, to try to explain, but Kiku's father would have none of it. Yao had suffered a cold, but had recovered more quickly than Kiku, who had been also forced to bed for several days. By the sound of his voice, he was still slightly unwell, but recovering soundly. The raspy voice he had expected was not present as he spoke to his father in desperate, urgent tones. "Yao-san meant no harm! Neither of us anticipated the storm! I also had a part to play—I…"

Yao plucked up his courage and knocked. "Excuse me," he said hesitantly, still outside. He and his father both stopped short, and there followed a hushed conversation between them. Yao only caught snatches of it; there were whispers of 'please let him in' and 'he's a bad influence' and 'he's not; he's my friend,' but evidently Kiku's father relented, as an attendant opened the door to admit him. Immediately he bowed to the floor, sitting up when Kiku's father cleared his throat. The word 'friend' lingered in his mind. After all those hints, after all he had done, did Kiku still only see him as nothing more than a friend? The wound cut deep, for he wanted Kiku to be so much more. A friend was not enough. Silently he reprimanded himself for having expected and wanted more, and for worrying about it at a time like this, but it could not be helped. He adored Kiku. Perhaps the festival was the only way to get through to him.

"Your Imperial Majesty," he began, lowering his eyes out of not only respect, but humility and disappointment as well. "I… I wanted to apologise again, and…"

"I will speak with you when I have finished speaking with my son," the Emperor said, nodding to the same attendant. Yao left, looking over his shoulder at Kiku, whose tired black eyes were watching him in return, an unreadable expression in them. He sat outside in the waiting room of Kiku's quarters, worrying endlessly that he might never get to see Kiku again. It had been a miracle that he had been allowed to stay in the palace, and at first he had taken that as a good sign, but then he had heard that there were court sessions determining whether or not he would be allowed to stay. Kiku had been his main defendant, though he had been too ill to attend all the sessions in person. He did not know what Kiku had said, but it had evidently been enough to prevent his immediate expulsion. Twenty minutes later, the Emperor emerged, and, once again, he lowered himself to the floor.

"The Crown Prince has being saying that he had a part in this," the Emperor said, wasting no time. "And that you tried to stop him. If this is true," he said, frowning slightly. "Then I will reconsider what I said."

"With all respect," Yao began, hesitant and fearful. To be torn from Kiku at this time would be too cruel. It would be too much to bear. At the very least, he had to apologise. "That is the truth, Your Imperial Majesty. Ki—His Imperial Highness tried to reach overboard for the first oar, and I… I tried to stop him doing so. By the time I had fallen in, he was reaching for the second, and I could not stop him. His Imperial Highness' safety means a lot to me, and I would never intentionally jeopardise it. I promise that such a thing will never happen again."

The Emperor sighed, and sat back on his knees. Once again, Yao noted that he did not look like Kiku, with his less rounded face and squarer jaw. He wondered what Kiku's mother had looked like, and could only presume that Kiku resembled her. "Is that so?" he said, with a heavy sigh. "Very well."

"It is the truth, Your Imperial Majesty," he said, bowing again. The Emperor looked at him closely, as though scrutinising him. He had underestimated Kiku's relation to this man. Their eyes were the same shape, despite the other differences, and though Kiku's were darker, their stares were the same: deep and penetrating.

"Your stories match," he said, frowning in thought and closing his eyes. "And I do not think that either of you are lying. But the fact remains that the Crown Prince very nearly died, and therefore I must take some measure of action. Come with me. I will talk to you both together."

Yao rose and waited until the Emperor was an acceptable distance in front before beginning to move. At the least, he was not to be separated from Kiku, nor was he to be expelled from the palace. It was a relief, to be certain, but it paled in comparison to the fact that he was not everything he had hoped to be in Kiku's eyes. The sound of their feet moving in sync over the polished wooden flooring provided a welcome distraction, until the Emperor spoke up and he tore his thoughts away from the ever-growing mire of disappointment. "Tell me, what is the nature of your relationship to the Crown Prince?" he asked, pursing his lips ever so slightly.

Stunned, Yao hesitated to respond. If Kiku considered him as only a friend, then he did not want to exaggerate their relationship. Similarly, if Kiku had indeed fallen for him, then he did not want to tell the truth, especially to Kiku's father, of all people. At least not yet. "Your Imperial Majesty?" he asked blankly, uncertain as to what to say. "I…"

"He says that you are only friends," the Emperor continued, pausing just outside Kiku's shouji screen door. "Is this not the case?"

"It just is as His Imperial Highness says, Your Imperial Majesty," he said, sadly trying to accept the bitter truth. Kiku would never love him as he loved Kiku. "We are nothing more than friends."

The Emperor sighed loftily, his hand on the screen door. "Very well. But I will say this—you have a lot to learn about my son yet. He says you are only friends, but that does not mean he considers you as such. Wait here."

With that, the Emperor disappeared inside, closing the door behind him. Yao frowned, confused, thinking over what the Emperor had said. Kiku was mysterious, that much he knew, and that had been one of the things that Yao had found intriguing in the first place. He also knew that he still did not fully understand Kiku, but he was closer to the other than anybody else—Kiku himself had told him that. If he had only scratched the surface of Kiku's character, then how alone had the other been all this time?

And furthermore, what had he misunderstood? A statement like that implied he had overlooked something—but what? He says you are only friends, but that does not mean he considers you as such. If Kiku did not even consider him a friend… No, that was wrong. Quiet though he was, Kiku had definitely enjoyed his company. He had not imagined the happinesses that he had seen Kiku display. So it logically remained that Kiku saw him as more than a friend, but yet he had said that this was the extent of their relationship. The trick is to tell the truth, he remembered Kiku saying. But tell it in a way that leaves open the rest of the truth; the hidden part. Slowly, all became clear. They were just friends. They had not confessed to each other, kissed, or done anything that could define them as anything other than friends. Yet the nature of their relationship was a completely different matter to the way in which they considered each other. Although, for all intents and purposes, they were merely friends, they both wanted to be much more. A wide grin made its way onto his face, and had he been in a more private location, he would have jumped for joy. He was glad that he restrained himself, however, for in the next moment, the door clattered open and the Emperor's attendant summoned him inside.

"Sit," the Emperor said, motioning to a silken zabuton at the foot of Kiku's futon. He bowed low to them both, very nearly ending up with his forehead on the shikibuton. He felt the smooth sheets with one hand and (what he hoped was indiscreetly) moved his fingers away.

"Yao-san," Kiku said, sounding somewhat strained but pleased. "Hello." Yao smiled gently at him, returning the greeting as politely and as formally as he could. Kiku idly waved his hand back and forth, dismissing his formality. The Emperor was seated before them, watching their interactions with a sharp eye.

Yao settled his attention on Kiku's father. Kiku was doing the same, and, apparently satisfied, the Emperor began. "I believe what you have both said," he began, reiterating what he had said earlier. "But nonetheless, even if no one is to blame, it remains that the Crown Prince very nearly died. Therefore I am telling you both these things: you are not to go out onto the larger lake again; and you must also wait until the Crown Prince is completely recovered before you go out. Furthermore, when the conditions are not favourable, you are not to go outside at all. Is that clear?"

Kiku sat up and they bowed in unison to his father. Yao could have sworn that he saw the hint of a relieved smile on Kiku's lips as his forehead touched the floor, but he dare not look to confirm his suspicion. He could see the sleeves of Kiku's blue yukata swinging as he bent low to the floor. The soft silk slipped down, revealing the dip of his shoulder. Then the door rattled shut, leaving them alone. Kiku shifted back into the futon, his yukata becoming slightly loose as he did so. Yao said nothing, not wishing to draw attention to it and embarrass the other, as would no doubt have been the case had he done so. Kiku pooled the thick kakebuton around the lower half of his body, remaining seated. Yao coughed subtly, red-faced, and then motioned to his chest, pulling at the lapels of his clothing. Kiku remained oblivious. He looked tired and drawn, as people so often did when they were ill. To the same end, he coughed again. "Is something wrong?" Kiku said, watching him with concern. "They said you had recovered, but…"

"It's not that," he said, blushing hard and averting his eyes. Anything was better than looking directly at him at this moment in time. He ended up counting the amount of grooves in a tatami mat. "Your yukata is undone."

"I… what?" Kiku looked down at his clothing and turned redder, the waning illness spreading a poppy blush on his cheeks and making him seem even more embarrassed. "Eh, ah… I'm so sorry," he said, turning away and untying his slackened obi. He gathered his kimono together more properly, trying to smooth out the folds and wrinkles. "There aren't any creases, are there?" he asked, unable to see over his shoulder.

"No, it's fine," Yao said, blushing intensely now. "There aren't any creases."

"Thank you," Kiku said, gathering it together and pinching his obi at one end to make a v. "How shameful of me," he began, tying it around his waist before beginning the knot sequence. "I must have slept badly. I apologise."

"That doesn't matter. You've been ill, after all," he replied, glancing just as the shoulder of Kiku's kimono slipped down. He caught a flash of pale, unblemished skin, and then it was gone; Kiku pulling his clothes tighter about him. Again, Kiku looped the simply decorated cloth around his waist, though this time it was a little off-centre. "Here," Yao said, very hesitantly edging forwards. He sat behind Kiku, on the mattress, and took Kiku's arms. "I'll do it."

Kiku's shoulder went rigidly tense. "I can dress myself, thank you," he said, hurriedly snatching the obi out of Yao's hands. Yao retrieved it from him softly but firmly, and pinched the end. "This is most terribly improper," Kiku was saying in a hushed whisper, falling back on his upbringing as his shoulders went stiffer than ever before. "If my father sees us, he…"

"No one will see," Yao said confidently, but just as quietly. He circled Kiku's waist three times, ignoring the soft protests and demands for him to stop. Reaching over his shoulders, he tied the knot at the front, and gently tugged the material until it was at the back. "There," he said, moving away hastily. "Perfect." Kiku lay down, not looking at him and not thanking him. Yao had known him long enough to have worked out that he considered thanking people the same as accepting something; and for whatever reason, be it embarrassment or heightened awareness of station, Kiku had refused to accept his help. This did not mean that he was not grateful, however. That done, he picked up the kakebuton's soft, thick edge, folding it over Kiku's shoulders.

"You really don't need to do all this," Kiku said, muffling a sneeze. His speech was stuffy with the remains of his cold, worsened by the sneeze. "I'm alright." Yao raised an eyebrow—very evidently he was not alright, and Yao draped a blanket over him for good measure. "I'm sorry if my father was hard on you," he said quietly, as though it were his fault. "He worries about me, that's all."

"Shh," Yao said, straightening the blanket around the edges. "You really need to rest," he reiterated, watching the rise and fall of Kiku's chest. The consistency and ease with which he breathed relieved him a little, and his worries lessened greatly, though his sense of responsibility did not. "I'm so sorry that this happened," he said, bowing to him formally. "If I hadn't had insisted on rowing us back…"

Kiku rolled his eyes and sighed. "Shush," he said, signalling for Yao to sit up. "You of all people don't have to bow to me like that. It was not your fault," he said firmly, snuggling down under the blankets. Yao watched him settle on his side so that they could see each other more clearly. "Neither of us knew it was going to get that bad, and besides," he said, smiling gently and kindly, as he always did. "You saved my life, Yao-san."

Yao sighed. Kiku really was so stubborn at the worst of times, and though it was true, he still felt terrible. It might have been true that it was not his fault, but at the very least, he wanted to redeem himself in Kiku's eyes. "At least let me make it up to you," he said, looking down at the relaxed but tired face. "I need to do that."

Kiku sighed, evidently undecided. He rolled onto his back, sighing again as he did so. His hair now splayed out on the pillow, an inky black against the white of the sheet. He closed his dark eyes, pursing his lips in slight distaste at being put in a position where he could not turn him down. "I can't say no to that," he said reluctantly. "It would be wrong of me to stop you doing what you feel you need to do. But on the same score, please don't go overboard. You help me enough as it is, and I'm already grateful for the time you spend by my side."

Yao smiled at him, waiting until he fell asleep before he reached under the covers and squeezed his small hand. Kiku was too kind, too sincere. It amazed him that nearly a year ago he had thought Kiku cold and dull, when in reality, he could not have been further from the truth.

He brushed Kiku's hair out of his eyes and lay down next to him, resting his head on the zabuton. He was tired too, more tired than he had realised, and felt his head dropping as he relaxed for the first time in many days. Kiku's sleeping face was the last thing he saw before he fell into a deep, warm sleep.

Two days later, Kiku had finally recovered. Determined to prove that they were responsible, and to become re-accustomed to the water, they had decided to go out on the small lake; and, determined to make good on his word and redeem himself, he was going the extra mile to please Kiku and cater to his every need or whim. Kiku found it insufferable. The weather was hot and sticky, and they walked through the gardens slowly, side by side. Kiku was trying to fan himself and hold his parasol at the same time—an unsuccessful attempt at cooling himself down that resulted only in him dropping his fan and smacking himself in the shoulder with his parasol several times. "Here," Yao said, tugging at the handle of his parasol. "Let me."

"I can handle it," Kiku said, dropping his fan for the umpteenth time.

Yao flew to pick it up, pivoting on one foot to stand before him as he handed it over. "Your Imperial Highness," he said, a playful smirk on his face. Kiku looked at him coolly, the picture of sophistication. Before Kiku could react, he stole the parasol, laughing as he dashed away. Kiku frowned, stuck. To go home sweating and sticky would be very unbecoming, but to chase after him would be even worse. Defeated, he resorted to fanning himself at double speed. Seeing he had won, Yao approached him again, holding the parasol over his head. "See? I can manage it."

Kiku sighed heavily. "So can I." He frowned frostily, but said nothing more, and let Yao carry it to where they usually sat. He was not angry, Yao could tell, but he was not pleased, either. He, however, grinned all the way there. Spoiling Kiku like this was quite enjoyable, really. When they sat down, he positioned it carefully behind Kiku, so that the sun did not burn his pale skin. Both sat by the lake, and dipped their feet in as they ate. The cool sensation of the water enlivened and refreshed them, and Yao sighed in contentment. At home, with this sort of weather, he would have spent the hour napping, but Kiku's people seemed to have no concept of resting for such a trivial thing, and worked through the stifling heat. As they ate, Yao played discreetly with the pink-tipped daisies, splitting open the stems and threading another through the narrow opening. Eventually he finished the circle off, tying a little knot in the end. Kiku was distracted, fanning himself busily and engaged in feeding the iridescent koi that inhabited the lake. Quietly, he snuck up beside him, and, hiding his amusement, he deposited it on Kiku's head, straightening it even as the other looked up at him in surprise. "Yao-san?"

"A Crown Prince needs his crown," he said, no longer smiling. He was too close to Kiku; and things were too tense between them. "And for one as delicate and as beautiful as a flower, what could be more appropriate?"

Kiku turned crimson, blushing and immediately lifting up a hand to touch his hair. "Yao-san, I…"

"Don't take it off," Yao implored him, clasping his wrist and lowering his hand to his waist. "Please."

Kiku sighed, fingering it delicately. He remained that way for a moment, and then the unreadable expression cleared, leaving him looking oddly calm. "Well then," he said, rising to his feet, not making to take the 'crown' off at all. "Are you ready, my noble oarsman? Or should I call you my parasol bearer?"

"Why not both?" he said simply, and Kiku looked away, blinking demurely. He bit his lip, seemingly thinking about saying something, but eventually he shook his head, and held his tongue.

"Tomorrow, we could go to the city, if you like," he was saying as they stepped onto the sanban. "While you're certainly very good on the lake, it's very different when you have to watch out for other people and navigate in a smaller area. Plus, we haven't been down for a while… There's a festival in a week or so, so it'll be interesting to see if there have been any changes…"

"The Festival of Flowers, right?" he said, sculling along the bank. On seeing Kiku's surprised look, he chuckled. That look of surprise was delightful. "I heard about it while you were off getting something one day," he explained, noticing how Kiku deflated a little and murmured a small, pathetic 'oh'. At first, Yao hoped that the other wanted to tell him himself, but then the reason for his fleetingly evident sombreness became clear.

"Then you know that I won't be able to spend the day with you?" he asked, surprising Yao and making him falter. "I'm really sorry," Kiku began, looking downcast. "It's the Imperial Family's job to deliver a golden chrysanthemum to each family, you see," he pressed his index fingers together nervously, his head bowed over his hands. "And, well…"

And you're not part of the Imperial Family. He looked away, struck once again by his apparently inherent inferiority. "I get it," he said, more coldly than he had intended. He knew that by now he should have become accustomed to it—Kiku had a duty to uphold and a responsibility to bear—but the thought of being out of his reach, out of even his consideration was just too much. And if he was unable to spend time with Kiku, how would he be able to give him his flower?

Kiku's dark eyes fell on him, watching him sadly. "I'm so sorry," he said in a tone that suggested he was falling once again into the mires of guilt, hanging his head as he worried over having upset him. "But I promise that as soon as father and I have finished, I'll be able to find you."

"I'm sorry too," he replied, relieved. "I didn't mean it like that." At the very least, he would be able to spend the evening by Kiku's side, and, maybe—if he could get his hands on some money—spoil him. But even though he could still present Kiku with a flower, he had yet to decide the best one to give him. At the moment, he would end up presenting Kiku with a whole bouquet, and he did not think that that was the custom.

A meek and nervous smile met his eyes, a familiar and endearing sight. When he returned it, Kiku came to stand beside him, hesitantly putting his hand on the bow. "There'll be flowers everywhere soon," he said, a delighted but faraway look in his eyes. "And there are special flower teas and flower dango and flower mochi…"

"Let's go tomorrow, then," he said, eager to see it. "I must have missed it last year."

"You arrived a week after the Festival of Fireworks—that's the colloquial term for the Midsummer Festival," Kiku added, on seeing his confusion. "Then… it was a week—maybe five days?—before you were well enough to stay awake." He looked at the lake beneath the boat, distant and pensive. "Funny," he said, voice now at a whisper. "I can't remember much before that. This year…" he looked up, the ends of his black hair fluttering in the wind. "Because you were here beside me, it's gone so fast. I had a lot of fun this year."

Yao looked at his small form, which was both proud and humble at the same time. He sounded melancholy and nostalgic, but he was smiling, evidently reminiscing on the many memories they had forged. In the year that he had known Kiku, the other had bloomed, flower-like. He had grown, and he imagined that Kiku was now reflecting on the same thing, unable to comprehend how and how much he had changed. Daisy chain and hair fluttering in the wind, Kiku's eyes met his for the briefest of seconds, and then broke the gaze, preferring to look out over the lake.

Flustered, he averted his eyes. They sat in silence for a long while, Kiku caught up in his thoughts, and Yao feeling too awkward to make idle conversation. Finally he caught sight of the other, who was fanning himself and looking remarkably uncomfortable in the heat. In silence, he rowed back to shore, helped Kiku down, and together, they made their way back to the Palace. This time, Kiku let him carry his parasol without any protests—Yao suspected he was too hot to care—and they retreated quietly into the shade. He paused as they walked through the gardens, the hibiscus bush catching his eye. Its wide cerise flowers bobbed daintily in the slight breeze, the golden stamens a bright contrast, like embroidery on silk. Remembering a select piece of Kiku's many lessons on hanakotoba, he gently and discreetly plucked a flower from its stem. Its scent was subtle and sweet, and he inhaled it deeply. "Here," he said, attracting Kiku's attention. Unsuspecting obsidian eyes met his own, peeking out from beneath long lashes. "For you," he said, slipping it into Kiku's hair. "A delicate, gentle beauty."

It was Kiku's turn to blush. As he stepped into the palace, Yao saw him smiling. "You," he said, facing away from him as they stood in his room, wearily waving servants away before they could register the topic and its flowery evidence. "Are impossible. In a setting such as this, at least have the decency to feign propriety. Sometimes I really wonder if you know what you're doing or implying," he continued, shaking his head softly, although there was a hint of light humour in his tone. "I've had oarsmen and parasol bearers before, but I've never had a scoundrel."

He grinned and Kiku raised his eyebrows pointedly. "Pleased to be of service, Your Imperial Highness."

It was a hot day as usual, and there was a calm, quiet murmur of activity inside the darkened café. Sunlight filtered through the two windows at the front of the building, but the shutters of the others were closed, leaving most of the establishment in a welcome and muted darkness. The lack of lighting was not unwelcome, for outside the sun glinted off of the Memorial Spire, spreading a prism across the canals and blinding anyone foolish enough to not look at it indirectly.

The city was bustling with preparations for the festival, and had taken on the same anticipating and expectant air as its eager inhabitants. Decorations were in the process of being put up: officially, special lines for lanterns were being stretched across the Central Plaza, thin ink strands against the canvas of the sky; coloured markers on posts were being positioned at the ends of canals; and the city shrine was beginning to prepare for the annual rush of visitors who would pay their respects to the various deities associated with the festival and, in return, pray for the necessary courage or that they might receive a flower from the person they had been longing for.

Unofficially, people had thrown gold and silver, coins, and bits of mirror into the canals. According to Kiku, after the Midsummer Festival, they would attempt to fish something out, and their finds would represent the fortune for the rest of the year. People who found gold and silver had good fortune; those who drew up coins would find their business booming; and those finding shards of mirror would receive protection from evil spirits. Only those who drew up grit or the occasional pebble would need to be concerned for their fortunes, so it seemed. Regardless of its significance, it was much appreciated by everybody, as the shimmering trinkets reflected the rays of the sun, making the canals seem to glow and sending ripples of light down the blue waterways. Now it reflected the rainbows created by the Spire, and once again Yao reflected that he truly was in the city of dreams, for he had never seen an underwater rainbow. Kiku told him that the best was still to come: soon they would be reflecting the blossoms of fireworks and the warm glow of the lanterns.

Now they sat opposite each other, waiting for a well-earnt and hard-won lunch in the cool of the café, Kiku sipping at a cup of sencha while they waited for food. "Cheer up," he said, setting the cup down and pouring another. "You weren't to know that it's the sanban with white and red stripes that get priority, as opposed to the ones with red and white stripes. And no harm was done, either, so there's nothing to worry about."

Yao sighed and focused on the world outside the window. His first day rowing on the canals of the city had been a disaster—he had only narrowly avoided a head-on collision, managed to turn the wrong way down a crossroads, and had finally crashed into the side of a sanban that was supposed to have priority on the interconnecting system of waterways. No one had been hurt and nothing had been damaged, save for his pride. He sighed again, embarrassed by his failings in front of Kiku.

Kiku lowered his cup, which was still three-quarters full. "Come on," he continued. "Do you honestly think that I've never fallen off of a sanban, or crashed? One time I even rowed into a wall."

"You didn't," he said, looking at Kiku with the utmost disbelief. Kiku's lips twitched in a half-laugh and he nodded, confirming that he had, indeed, at the age of eleven, rowed into a wall and fallen into the canal. "Alright," he said, trying to let it ride and sipping his tea. "You win."

The proprietor, a friendly-looking older man with a protruding waistline and a snowy moustache, set a plate of unusual foods down before them, the clear chink of the delicate porcelain ringing out as it was set down on the wooden table. Kiku thanked and paid him, while Yao looked in a slowly increasing wonder at the odd selection of what were apparently confections and desserts. They did not resemble anything of Wakoku origin, consisting mostly of pastries and smelling much sweeter than the traditional desserts he had seen before.

"A long time ago, even before the war," Kiku said, holding back his sleeve as he took a slice of a thin, latticed pastry filled with cherries and plums. He gently deposited it onto another, smaller plate, and offered it to him. "Groups of explorers came here on great ships. No one really remembers the where the places they came from are located, but they are a long way away, across many oceans. With them, they brought strange clothing, weapons, and," here he paused slightly, looking at the plate. "Food.

"Because there were different groups of explorers," he explained, "we were introduced to quite a few things like this. This type of building, with a white front and stone walls, for example, came from one of those groups."

Yao looked at the strange confection with apprehension. "Is it sweet?" he asked, waiting for Kiku to help himself to a slice.

"Quite sweet," he said, taking a small bite. "But not as sweet as the other types," he added, and Yao tentatively tried it, letting the flavours linger on his tongue. The filling was fresh and natural, both sharp and sweet, and the pastry was crisp and slightly but not unpleasantly oily. "It's good, isn't it?"

He nodded, hungrier than he had realised. The dessert was interesting, and unlike anything he had ever seen at home. "What's it called?" he asked, eagerly returning for a second bite.

Kiku shook his head, his hand in front of his mouth as he finished. "In their language, I couldn't say," he said, apologising. "The records left aren't very clear, and it was unpronounceable to us. But what we call it—rankoku-furai—was based on the word they used."

Next was a sticky, firm dessert, which, seemingly innocent, was maddeningly sweet. The nuts inside were a welcome relief, alleviating the flavour just a little. He swallowed the black 'treat' down and hastily took a few mouthfuls of tea. On the other side of the table, Kiku was echoing his reaction, and they met each other's eyes. He grimaced slightly and coughed under his breath, clearing his throat and shook his head. "Too sweet," he said, and Kiku nodded in sympathy.

They finished their lunch at a leisurely pace, talking as they finished the pot of tea. To Yao's enormous gratitude, they somehow found themselves on the topic of the approaching festival. "So what sort of things do you do?" he asked, holding the door open as they left. "I mean, I won't be able to spend the day with you, and…"

"There's plenty to do," Kiku said as they set off, this time standing near the bow of the boat to aid him. "Keep to the left," he advised softly, nodding in approval as Yao successfully passed another sanban, even though he crashed into the wall in his efforts to generate distance between the boats.

"Since we give out chrysanthemums in the day, though, most of the activities take place in the afternoon or evening. There's a lot of food, there are parades, dances… There are boat races, too, if you were interested."

He blinked at Kiku in surprise and barely managed to avoid bumping into the wall again. He was momentarily glad that the sanban they were using was a trainer's one; if he had crashed a new, higher-level one, he would have had to pay for it, and he had not a penny to his name. "Do you think I'm good enough?" he asked, feeling a slight spark of pride as Kiku nodded easily, without hesitation.

"I'd cover the entrance fee, if that was what you wanted," Kiku said, ignoring his instant protests. Now that he thought about it, Kiku was always paying for his share, too, and though that was not necessarily wrong, Yao felt unequal to him. He remembered the delight of giving someone something tangible and physical—memories were nice, but so was something physical, a constant reminder. "There are monetary prizes for winning, so if you're that caught up about it—and I can assure you that you really shouldn't be—then you can pay me back. There are two types of races—one where lots of people row down the Central Canal at once, and another where contestants take equally long but different routes to a destination. What do you think?"

He considered briefly, weighing up the problems he would face in each. Rowing down the Central Canal – the widest canal in the city – would be very simple; very direct. Given that it ran in a straight line, he would be able to work up a good speed, but on the other hand, he could be nearer the walls or struggle with the competition. Rowing alone might prove an advantage, but then he would have to navigate through the city, a feat which was currently not proving very feasible. "I'm not sure," he said finally, and hesitated. The Festival of Flowers was only four days away, and he still did not know if he should give Kiku something. He could already imagine the look of displeased impatience thinning Kiku's lips and furrowing his eyebrows. On the other hand, he suspected that Kiku would not actually be rejecting him because he did not share the same feelings, and that might hurt them both more. For those reasons, ought he to ask about giving flowers? Given that he had barely been discreet in trying to communicate his feelings to the other, doing so would leave Kiku in no doubt about his feelings, something that he found inappropriate at this time. On the other hand, who else did he have to ask? Kiku's father? He shook his head. That was inconceivable. An attendant, maybe?

He took a deep breath, plucked up all his courage, and threw in a prayer to his ancestors for good luck, and began to speak. "If I wanted to give…" he trailed off, silenced by Kiku's attentive, wide-eyed look. His palms were sweating; his throat was dry. This was impossible. But there Kiku was, waiting for the rest of his question. "…If I wanted to give it a shot, could I?"

As Kiku answered, he gazed down at the clear water and inwardly cursed his own cowardice. Even though it had probably been better that he had not asked, if he could not do something as simple as that, how would he ever find the courage for the festival itself? A heaviness settled upon him, and he realised that it was the pressure of expectation, and the dread of losing to himself.

Shouji = paper doors held together with bamboo.

Zabuton = a (usually square) sitting cushion that sometimes has a back and an armrest.

Futon = traditional Japanese bed consisting of padded mattresses and quilts. The shikibuton is the mattress, and the duvet is called kakebuton. The pillow, which is often filled with beans/beads/buckwheat chaff, is called makura.

Yukata = a kimono worn after bathing. It is nowadays sometimes used as pyjamas, especially in summer. (Also because I couldn't find sleepwear, Kiku is stuck with this).

Tatami mat = mats in a traditional Japanese washitsu room. Traditionally made of rice straw and covered with straw made from rushes. Originally they were used as seating for only very high-ranked nobles.

Obi = the sash/belt about the middle of a kimono.

Dango = Similar to mochi, dango are balls of rice flour with different flavours.

Mochi = balls of rice flour with different flavoured pastes on the inside. Very delicious!

Hibiscus is said to mean 'gentle' in Japanese hanakotoba, and a rare or delicate beauty in other contexts of 'flower meanings'.

Wakoku = an old name for Japan, before it became known as 'Sun Origin.' While this may or may not reflect the original name in history, I have used the symbols 和国- harmony country. 倭国may be the actual name used in history. (If anyone knows anything concrete, please let me know!)

Sencha = a type of green tea, considered less formal than matcha.

The groups of explorers refer to the Dutch, the Portuguese, who visited Japan in the 1600s and the 1500s respectively. They left behind words, Christianity, and food; and so, I have expanded this to include pastries. Yao and Kiku consider them overly sweet because, in general, western food is a lot more sugary. The two referred to in this chapter are, in order of appearance:

Limburgse Vlaai = a Dutch tart consisting of a lattice pastry top and a filling. The fillings include fruits, a sweet buttery mix, and a rice and custard porridge. It is quite thin. Kiku calls it rangoku-furai because 'furai' is based on the pronunciation of 'vlaai,' and 'rankoku' is a name for Holland (whether or not it is made-up I'm not sure). If it is made up, my justification is this: Holland was originally called 阿蘭陀 oranda. When the Dutch came to Japan, the study of the books they brought with them begun. This study was called 蘭学 rangaku – and from this, I've taken 蘭 ran and combined it with 'country' 国 kuni.

Bolo de mel = a cake originating from the Madeira Islands. It is traditionally made from molasses, and has walnuts and almonds inside. It is firm but not hard in texture, and because of the molasses, it takes on a dark colour.

(Also, I forgot to mention this earlier, but the reason why there aren't one sanban, two sanbans, etc., is because Japanese does not use plurals).